T GAMBLE: Eulogizing the loss of an un-cool classic

It is with great sadness, and heavy heart, that I report the untimely death of my beloved 2013 Dodge mini-van. This mini-van represented a significant milestone in my life when I completely and forever relinquished any and all claims to even a shred of coolness in my life. I bought the mini-van so that we could use it as a secondary vehicle to take the kids and friends to the beach, Disney World, and other exotic places, like the Little Grand Canyon. Yes, I know, I am a very impressive world traveler.

You cannot be cool in a mini-van. Brad Pitt could not get a date with a $25 hooker in a mini-van. James Dean would not be a movie icon if, in “Rebel Without a Cause,” he drove a mini-van. You cannot even get young valet parking garage attendants to park a mini-van for you. It is too stigmatizing for the teenage persona to overcome.

So there I have been, driving the mini-van while everyone I know said, “There goes T. Gamble. He used to be at least a little cool. At least he thought he was. But not now, he’s given up. Next he’ll be wearing his pants up around his chest and rolling up his blue jean pants legs.”

The mini-van met its fate in the mean streets of Columbus, Georgia, on Victory Drive. Victory Drive is no place for such an ending, with its strip clubs and blue-collar reputation, but it was here that two cars collided at an intersection and then piled into the helpless mini-van. My daughter was parked at a red light, driving it at the time, probably thinking, “Boy, am I the un-coolest 18-year-old in the history of the world driving this mini-van.”

God came down and mercifully ended the life of the mini-van with only 163,000 miles and enough food and drink stains inside to keep a small animal alive for at least two weeks. (Note to self, never buy another mini-van with cloth seats unless I long for the aroma of each fast food meal I’ve eaten in it for the last 10 years.)

I had to go a Columbus wrecker service to clean the van out before the insurance company could come and take her away to the great car crusher in the sky. I took enough stuff out of her to start a flea market. There were occasional Swedish fish, my daughter’s favorite candy, some in containers and some randomly scattered throughout the vehicle. Coins were everywhere. If anyone ever got change back from any fast food or other place, the coins were thrown in whatever pocket or side door panel available. If we ever met a toll booth the mini-van was loaded for bear.

My son’s nasty T-shirts from football practice, not this year’s, but from about 2018, were hidden under a seat. On and on it went, each find bringing back a memory.

There was the time the key fob for the mini-van would crank the car but not unlock the doors, so my wife, while at the beach, sternly warned the kids, “Do not lock the doors as we cannot unlock them.” So they promptly locked the doors with it running. Her response to this still registers as a category 1 hurricane in Florida on some hurricane intensity maps.

Oh, yes, the good times one has while being uncool.

The mini-van did take me on several boys-only beach trips, golf outings, etc. For this type of trip, it has a purpose. The police will not pull a mini-van over at 2 in the morning even if it is driving the wrong way on a one way street. Now you can be going 58 in a 55 at 2 in the morning in a Corvette and get pulled over, but mini-vans are basically invisible to law enforcement: “Did my radar just clock that vehicle at 105? Oh, no, never mind, just a mini-van.”

If Ted Bundy had driven a mini-van, instead of a VW beetle, he’d probably still be riding around abducting young women. You could rob a bank and drive off in a mini-van, and the cops would say, “Well, all we saw was a mini-van driving away. That couldn’t be it.”

So, I may have to buy another one but no cloth seats. And my pants will not be at my armpits. I promise.